


Don't The Moon Pull The Tide?

by Chronicler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Absence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Banter, Bengineer Button, Bittersweet, Body Worship, Bottom Zayn, British Character, British English, British Slang, Butt Plugs, Camboy Roleplay, Canon Compliant, Caring, Character(s) of Color, Closeted Characters, Cock Slut, Collars, Computers, Daddy Kink, Daddy Liam, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Desperation, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Erotica, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Eyeliner, Fantasizing, Feminization, Filthy, Genderplay, Hotel Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jewelry, M/M, Masturbation, Melancholy, Name-Calling, Neediness, Nipple Play, Obsessive Behavior, One True Pairing, Pansexual Character, Pet Names, Phone Sex, Piercings, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Zayn, Power Play, Prostate Massage, Prostitution Roleplay, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Roleplay, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex slave fantasy, Smoking, Smut, Some Humor, Stripping, Tattoos, Technology, Tenderness, Texting, Top Liam, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Weight Issues, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicler/pseuds/Chronicler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam is stuck thousands of miles away from Zayn, and he's lonely, horny, and pining. When he finally gets hold of Zayn, they have really filthy Skype sex, with Zayn roleplaying as Liam's camboy. </p><p>~*~</p><p>“You touching yourself?” Zayn asked, bringing him back to reality.</p><p>“Yeah. You?”</p><p>“Not yet. Gonna make you work for it.”</p><p>“You can be such a little shit.” Liam curled his fingers around himself as he said it, his voice warm with affection and a smile tugging at his lips.</p><p>“But you love me anyway, right?”</p><p>“So <i>fucking<i> much.”</i></i></p><p> ~*~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't The Moon Pull The Tide?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Use me" by Miguel. Written by Warren Felder, Ronnie James, Steve Mostyn, Pimentel, Nycole Russell, Elle Varner, Andrew Wansel. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzLQWSNVFiE
> 
> For Mayra.
> 
> Thank you to Catrina, Aimee and Noel for beta reading and other help.
> 
> Feedback would be very gratefully received.
> 
> I still keep editing. So the story is slightly different now than it was before. Mostly I think of things and add them. I just changed some more. I feel bad that I keep changing it after people read it. Ah well, you could always re-read...

_‘Were r u?!?’_

Liam bit his lower lip pensively as he fired off the text, his typing making up in speed and passion what it lacked in accuracy.

_‘Zaayynnn?!?!??’_

He sent another text as he dropped onto the bed in his hotel room and lay back. He knew he was being ridiculous. Knew that Zayn would either smirk or be pissed when he checked his phone and saw the vast number of texts that Liam had sent throughout the day. But he was really past caring.

_‘Check ur fcking txtttsssss!!!!!!!1'_

Even he could see the flaw in the logic of that message.

He hated days like these. Days apart, in different cities. Hell, different countries. Yet, once again, Zayn was unreachable.

Since Zayn had returned home, Liam had only received a few emails and texts from him. Somehow they hadn’t managed to connect, the eight-hour time difference not helping matters. Between his sexual frustration, and the doubts that snuck up on him whenever Zayn seemed more distant than the physical distance between them warranted, he’d really had enough. He wished he didn’t need to be constantly reassured, but, well, he did.

Full of nervous energy, Liam’s restless fingers curled into a fist, as he held his phone tight in his other hand and stared at the screen. Futilely, he tried to conjure up a reply through sheer force of will, which he apparently couldn’t, as his treacherous phone remained silent.

His irritation getting the better of him, he threw it onto the bed as he got up, unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt as he stalked into the bathroom to take a shower.

He let the water run too cold, dousing his unspent passion, and cooling his unjustified anger. Zayn didn’t have to be at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day. He knew that, he did. But oh how Liam wished that he were.

When he came back into the room, his sweat pants hanging low on his hips as he rubbed his damp hair with a towel, his phone was tinnily playing the ringtone he’d set for Zayn’s calls. Finally. Relief flooded through him as he grabbed it, dropping the towel in his haste, and checking the screen; there was Zayn’s name, along with a picture of him curled up in Liam’s arms, taken not long after they met. Taken long before Liam realised that as fiercely as he wanted so many things in life, that was what he wanted most of all.

For a few seconds he held the phone in his hand, its urgent vibrations ticking into his skin. Eyes closed, he swallowed, then took a deep breath, determined to sound nonchalant when he answered. Knowing it would go to voicemail if he didn’t get his act together, he pressed the button to connect the call and said, “Hi darling, busy day?” He winced – that sounded more passive aggressive than he’d intended.

There was an amused chuckle on the other end of the line. “Not really: I slept in, then chilled. Just turned on my phone and found twenty-seven texts from you. _Twenty-fucking-seven_. Thought someone must have, like, _died_ for a minute. You’re so fucking needy, babe.”

“I’m not –” He stopped talking with an aggravated sigh, biting his sore lip again and holding his free hand over his eyes, harshly rubbing his furrowed brow with his thumb. “Yeah okay, maybe I missed you. Maybe. Just a little bit.”

He could hear the grin in Zayn’s voice as he replied, “I didn’t miss you at all. Makes a nice change having a bed to myself. I get to stretch out. And no one wakes me because they’re horny and want their dick sucked. It’s great.”

His jaw tightened, and he briefly considered throwing his phone at the wall.

Zayn’s voice broke the tense silence, “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice tight.

“Fuck, I was joking! Don’t be like that.” Zayn’s voice softened as he added, “You know I missed you too. I always do. Now stop fucking sulking and tell me what you’re wearing.”

Liam pictured the way Zayn’s eyes must have gone from dancing with amusement to glowing with a gentle fire, his considerable attention always settling on Liam in the end. It calmed Liam, and his voice was deep as he responded, though it had a grudging edge to it. He had a little pride left after all. Not much, but a little. “Just my grey tracky bottoms.”

“Nothing else?” His put-upon ire forgotten, Zayn sounded merely intrigued.

“I just got out the shower.”

“Yeah? You get yourself off in there?” Zayn breathed the words into the phone, quiet and filled with intent.

“No,” Liam paused, relieved; he could see where this was headed. “I had some meetings today, and spent some time at the studio, but all I could think about was you. So I waited for you.” His skin had itched with the need to touch Zayn, to be inside him. He didn’t try to put that into words, knowing the tone of his voice would be enough, as it went from dismissive to rough, and yearning.

He could hear Zayn laying down as he replied, his voice slow and lazy, “I woke up hard; came pretending it was your hand on me, and not mine. Couldn’t be bothered to move and get something to fuck myself with. Didn’t wanna settle for my fingers. I felt empty, always do when you leave me alone.”

“ _Baby_ ,” Liam half groaned as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

“I should go find someone else to take care of me if you’re not gonna.”

That crossed a line, pushed Liam over the edge into somewhere dark and bleak. Possessive desperation snatched at his skin like thick undergrowth, a bleak wind whispering through it as it tried to hold onto him and keep him there. “You only dare say that ‘cause I’m so far away.” He barely unclenched his teeth to grind out the words, staring at the painting opposite the bed as he said it, the tranquil, sun-drenched woodland scene mocking him with its innocuous banality.

Zayn laughed, brief and from his chest. Liam could imagine the feel of the vibrations as if Zayn were pressed against him. “You don’t scare me. And anyway, you know I love it when you punish me.”

True. Liam knew that very well. And he wouldn’t forget those words. But that was for another time, when he was in less urgent need. He needed to feel the security of knowing that Zayn belonged to him. He needed the comfort of knowing that he could give Zayn everything that he needed. And, most of all, he needed to come. “I’ll put you over my knee and spank you when I get home, babe.” He knew that Zayn wouldn't doubt that he meant it. “But right now I need to know what you’re wearing too, so I can picture you.” 

There was the sound of Zayn stretching with a groan before he answered, “I wanna say it’s something sexy, but it's just what I slept in: an old t-shirt with holes in it, and boxers. I look like shit.”

Liam laughed incredulously as he spoke, “Baby, you couldn’t look bad if you tried. You’re always beautiful.” His voice grew serious and wistful as he added, “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He laid back on the bed, the expensive white cotton cold and smooth against the naked skin of his back, still pink and sensitive from the water. A smile ghosted across his lips as he pictured Zayn, soft, warm, and crumpled, hair wild and untamed, the lines from his pillow etched across his cheek. The Zayn only he got to see. His hand wandered down and he pushed the flat of his palm against his thinly covered cock as it twitched to life at the images being conjured up. He sighed with relief and let his eyes drift shut.

“You touching yourself?” Zayn asked, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah. You?”

“Not yet. Gonna make you work for it.”

“You can be such a little shit.” Liam curled his fingers around himself as he said it, his voice warm with affection and a smile tugging at his lips.

“But you love me anyway, right?”

“So _fucking_ much.”

Zayn paused, and Liam heard the rustling of sheets as he got up. He sounded resolved as he said, “I wanna make this good for you, put on a show. I want you to watch me. Skype me in like, an hour?”

Liam groaned. “I just need your voice, babe. Fuck, I just need to think about you. I need you _now_.”

“I’ll make it worth your while. I bought a sick new webcam when I got back. I can be, like, your camboy. I’ll do whatever you want if you pay me enough,” Zayn somehow managed to sound simultaneously geeky and slutty.

That did sound worth waiting for. “Okay, one hour. But if you fall asleep again and don’t turn up, I’ll get a plane home overnight and come teach you a lesson.”

“That’s not much of a threat.” There was a tinge of frustrated sadness in Zayn’s voice, and Liam chastised himself. Playful Zayn was never to be wasted, he fell back into his darker moods so easily. It was best to keep him moving.

“Go on babe, get yourself ready for me, and don’t keep me waiting.” He hung up and put his somewhat redeemed phone on the bedside cabinet.

He finally finished dressing, rummaging quickly in his suitcase and pulling on the first crumpled t-shirt he found. He took a look at himself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. His chestnut hair was shorn so close to his scalp there wasn’t much he could do with it. He ran his hands over it, pulling them forward, the short bristles tickling his palms and barely reaching up between his fingers. His stubble was as long as his hair, almost edging into a beard again. He ran his fingers over it next, enjoying the way his nerve endings lit up and sent ripples of sensation down his body. He could shave, but Zayn would just frown and complain, so he decided not to bother. The look he gave himself was critical, dissatisfied; he looked tired, and nowhere near as toned as he used to. Zayn always insisted that he didn’t care, and Liam believed him… but he wished he found it as easy to overlook these changes himself.

The soft outline of his stomach was obvious through the well-worn, stretched cotton of his faded t-shirt, and he shifted his posture, straightening his back and breathing in as he pulled at the material so it hung less snugly against him. The sleeves were loose where his biceps had shrunk, his arms smooth and soft rather than bulging as he tensed. He has indulged in too much good, easy living, to counteract all the stress the he had to deal with, leaving him with not enough time to work out. He admonished himself silently for it, telling himself to do better. But he wasn’t really sure he cared enough anymore. His desperate need to keep up appearances, to please everyone, was gradually fading, as age and experience taught him the impossibility of it.

With a weary sigh, he tore his eyes away from his own imperfections, found a glass, and filled it with a ridiculously small bottle of whisky.

The handle caught as he opened the door to the balcony, and he swore at it, his drink almost sloshing over as he forced it open and stepped outside.

The night air was pleasantly warm, not the kind of autumn he was used to back home, but the tiles were cool beneath the naked soles of his feet. He needed it, needed to feel grounded, even suspended high over the glittering lights of yet another city. He was past caring which one, the novelty of endless travel wearing thin. He had come to realise that being an adventurer meant more than exploring the outer world, and increasingly he longed to dedicate himself to exploring the uncharted territories that Zayn had to offer, as he let Liam map and shape him with his touch.

But the city blinked and sighed before him, the roads running like rivers of light in the darkness. The countless windows in the other high-rise buildings all whispered of the lives unfolding behind them.

He sipped his drink, as far away, too far, Zayn prepared himself. He knew Zayn’s routine, had watched and helped him with is enough times; how he’d clean himself out, get himself ready to be used. Then he’d sit in front of his mirror and make himself perfect; though Liam suspected Zayn’s self-scrutiny was borne more from insecurity than vanity. And, throughout it all, he’d be working himself up in anticipation, still always excited about finally, finally having _Liam_ , of all people; more than anything else Liam had acquired, that made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. 

He grasped the cold iron of the balustrade that gave the illusion of safety, the chill from the metal seeping through his skin and into his bones as he looked down at the ground, a distant mass that barely seemed real. He knew that he should feel fear, contemplating such a drop. He sometimes wondered why he didn’t.

Glancing at his wrist, he found that for once he wasn’t wearing a watch, and he wandered back inside to check the time with a sense of building anticipation. Not long left to wait. He locked the balcony door and pressed the button next to it, turning away disinterested as the curtains swished closed. Even this high up, this cosseted, it was best not to risk prying eyes. They were everywhere, after all. Always seeking him out.

He quickly finished his drink, the alcohol burning pleasantly, calming him. His laptop was on the desk where he’d left it charging, and he unplugged it, carrying it over to the bed. He held it under his arm as he pushed the quilt out of the way; it scrunched into a heap like a freshly ploughed snowdrift. The laptop was dropped onto the mattress with a slight bounce, then the pillows piled, tilted against the headboard. He grabbed the messy, well-used bottle of lube from his suitcase and dropped it next to his computer, along with a travel pack of tissues. He felt like he was fourteen again, getting ready for a solitary masturbation session over whatever porn he could get his hands on, not twenty-one with the whole world open to him and clamouring for his attention.

The room was large, airy, and modern, it’s self-consciously expensive style screaming luxury. But it barely registered with him, just a blur of white and glass. He was long past caring what the interchangeable rooms looked like, as he glanced around, checking that he had everything he needed. He paused for a second, wondering if it was a good idea, then decided he didn’t give a fuck and got himself another drink, refilling his glass with another mockingly small bottle. Then he settled himself against the soft, overstuffed pillows, his legs outstretched.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, and it wouldn’t be the last. Times like these, their so-called breaks from touring together, though not from working, he found the most gruelling of all. Their lives such a juggling act. A game of smoke and mirrors. He missed the simplicity of performing together, and nights spent frantically fucking Zayn in anonymous hotel rooms like the one he was currently in, but far less empty, far less lonely.

The anticipatory silence was interrupted by his phone, vibrating against the nightstand as it rang its generic chimes. He leaned over, checked the caller I.D., and found it was his sound engineer.

He considered ignoring it, but he was meant to be working, not just on holiday, so he reluctantly answered. 

It turned out to be a long, urgent, technical, question about the song they’d been mixing earlier. He tried to be professional, he really did, but he barely took any of it in, barely even registered his own brief answers. He just wanted the call to end. He suddenly realised he was chewing one of his nails absently as he tried to focus, and he wrenched his hand away, curling it into a fist and keeping it clasped in his lap.

He tuned back into the conversation as Benny asked, “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?”

“I’m sorry mate, it that obvious?” he conceded, annoyed with himself. “It’s just, I was meant to Skype Zayn fifteen minutes ago, and he gets pissy if I’m late.” At least Benny was one of the few people he could be honest with.

There was amusement in the other man’s voice, “I get it: fuck work, you just wanna go do kinky shit.”

Liam opened his mouth to try and give a convincing denial, but his friend, thankfully, continued talking and made it easy for him.

“It’s alright, we can sort this tomorrow. Go see to your wifey.”

“You wouldn’t dare let him hear you call him that.” Liam pointed out.

Benny laughed, “No, I wouldn’t! Later, bro.” And finally he was gone. Liam would make it up to him.

He placed his MacBook on his abdomen, smoothing his t-shirt out beneath it, and raised the lid. It was top of the range, of course, sleek, silver, and light. He turned it on, ready to be transported away to a virtual reality where they could be whoever they want to be, do whatever they wanted to do.

He quickly opened Skype and clicked on the smiling picture of Zayn to call him. The sharp dial tone echoed around the room. And didn’t stop. The program displayed that Zayn was available, but he wasn’t answering. Liam sighed resignedly and drank more of his whiskey as he waited.

Finally, the call connected, and Zayn’s bedroom in his square, white, modernist house near London appeared on the screen. There was an intriguing flash of his naked abdomen as he moved past the camera, then the image was dominated by his large bed, which was reassuring. Liam spent a lot of his time in that room, and he knew there wasn’t usually any furniture where the webcam was filming from. Zayn must have placed something there and set the equipment up on it. The thick curtains were pulled closed across the large window on the wall beyond the bed, shutting out the afternoon sun, but the room was flooded with more artificial light than usual, though Liam couldn't see the source.

“You’re late.” Zayn’s voice sounded annoyed, and a little muffled, as he moved around the room out of view.

“I know babe, I’m sorry. Ben called and –”

“I don’t care,” Zayn cut him off, “We had an appointment and time is money. I could have been seeing another client.”

A relieved smile spread over Liam’s lips. He must be forgiven as Zayn had slipped straight into character.

He studied the bed as he listened to Zayn’s movements and waited, knowing he was being punished. The quilt was neatly folded at the foot of the bed, the pillows carefully stacked in front of the headboard. Like Liam, Zayn had deposited everything that he might need onto the crisp white sheet covering the mattress. The supplies and toys were intriguing and turned Liam on even more. The picture quality was almost perfect; Zayn must have set up a separate webcam, microphone too probably. He’d gone all out. There was a brightly coloured tube of flavoured lube, the allegedly emulated tropical fruit pictured on the label, tissues, and an assortment of dildos and butt plugs, all ready and waiting to be used.

He glanced at his own image, small and unobtrusive in the corner of the screen. He was used to seeing himself being streamed to the world. His own webcam was located over his screen, just a small dot observing him; he could almost forget it was there. The quality of his image was worse, giving his movements a slight delay and occasional lag, the black a little too matte and blocky. But that was apt; this was about Zayn, and he didn’t bother looking at himself again other than to check that the right parts of him were visible.

Zayn appeared again on the screen as he climbed onto the bed. He kneeled and then sat back on his haunches, tucking his bare feet beneath himself. He glared straight into the webcam, eyes narrowed slightly as he rubbed his lip with the back of his index finger, still seeming irritated, but fuck he was perfect and Liam drew in a sharp breath as he took in the sight.

“You are so _fucking_ beautiful.” He breathed the words out heavily once he could manage to speak.

Zayn’s lips curled slowly into a satisfied smile. He had clearly made an effort. Fresh out of the shower, his hair still glossy as it dried, the dark curls framing his exquisite, finely sculpted face. He had shaved, clean and smooth; it always made him look vulnerable and younger than his years. He must smell so good, of his usual expensive cologne, but Liam wanted to dirty him up, make him smell of sweat and sex. Hoops and studs glinted, pierced through each ear, just the start of many more to come, Liam suspected. And black kohl was carefully smudged around his eyes, combining with his long, dark lashes to make them look impossibly bigger. He barely seemed real; he looked as though he had been formed from Liam's most carefully hidden fantasies.

Zayn was naked except for his favourite pair of faded black jeans, ragged slits cut across them, even high up his thighs. The waist sat low on his hips, the white waistband of his designer underwear peeking out the top. An ever-growing gallery of ink adorned his deliberately smooth chest and wound its way down his arms. Liam often wondered if Zayn would ever stop adding more, ever get enough of the self-punishing pain and cleansing transformation they provided – he doubted it.

There wasn’t a pound of extra fat on him, his body lean and taut, muscle and sinew compact and wiry. It matched his highly-strung, nervous-energy. He looked too thin really, but Liam was well aware how strong he still was. His long, artistic fingers were stained with bright colours – he must have been painting earlier – and adorned with rings, though less than usual, presumably so they didn’t get in the way. On each wrist he wore a silver bracelet, intricately embossed, and studded with turquoise.

Best of all was the black leather collar snugly fastened around his slender throat. When Liam had given it to him as a gift, in a velvet box like expensive jewellery, Zayn had laughed and called him a pervert. But he wore it anyway, that was all that mattered, preening under the attention that Liam lavished upon him.

He looked like a pampered pet. The fact that he was actually obscenely rich and successful in his own right just made it better. That he so willingly surrendered himself.

As always, Liam felt ordinary and ungainly in comparison. All he could do was stare, open mouthed, the weight of awe and his own need heavy on his chest. He had never been quite sure what Zayn saw in him, why he had fallen so hard for Liam from the moment they met. He still wasn’t sure that he could hold Zayn’s interest, fearing that eventually he would realise that Liam wasn’t worth it.

Zayn looked over to his right for a moment, gazing intently, and Liam figured that’s where his computer screen must be. It was a little disorientating, reminding himself that when Zayn looked away, he could see Liam, but when he turned back, seeming to be meeting Liam’s eyes, he was actually looking into a camera.

Finally the expectant silence was broken, as Zayn initiated small talk to set the scene. “I’m Zayn. What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.” He was grateful to escape the doubts of reality.

“Then what shall I call you?”

“Call me, ‘Daddy’.”

It was inevitable he would say that, and Zayn must have seen it coming, but it still visibly hit him; it always did. Amusement and lust battled for ascendancy in the flat image of Zayn’s eyes, the changeable hazel of his irises refusing to be categorised, dancing their way through the inadequate colours available to depict them in pixels. “Yes, Daddy, whatever you say.” Zayn sounded breathless already and it went straight to Liam’s dick.

Liam moved his laptop down to his thighs, reluctant to increase his distance from the image, but fuck he needed access to touch himself. Once the screen was settled near his knees, he caught sight of his own image, and pulled at his t-shirt so it no longer bunched up over his stomach. Leaning back against the pillows, he palmed himself through the worn fabric of his trousers, the prominent threads of the cotton rough against his sensitized skin.

He noticed that Zayn’s pupils were a little too dilated, like inky black pools, and his movements slow and languid. “Are you high?” He asked casually.

Zayn shrugged. “Yeah. Are you drunk?” He countered.

“I’m getting there.” He didn’t suppose it mattered.

“What do you do for a living?” Zayn continued his role.

“That doesn’t matter either.” That much was true, increasingly so. He took a drink as he watched Zayn glance to the side and look him over assessingly.

“You look like a bored businessman, slumming it with me in your fancy hotel room, with your expensive booze rotting your liver away.” He looked a little annoyed, and a little concerned as he got carried away with his description, probably realising it was a little too close to the truth.

“That’s exactly what I am, darling.” Liam bowed his head a little as he said it, gesturing his glass towards Zayn as though toasting him, without looking away from the screen. He wasn’t quite sure if he was playing a role or not either anymore, the lines blurring. Their real lives were as much a work of fiction as what they were doing now. Perhaps more so.

“You didn’t have to make such an effort for me,” Zayn continued sarcastically, still looking at the screen and gesturing to it with his hand.

“To be fair, isn’t that the whole point of me paying for sex? So that you have to do all the work? And so you’ll leave quietly afterwards, without bothering me.” It seemed safer to slip firmly back into character.

Taking the hint, Zayn turned back to the camera with a haughty look, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening even in the artificial light of the image. “Then we’d better get started; you are paying for me by the minute. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it, so long as you keep your credit card ready. _Anything_.”

He leaned forward as he said the last word, his palms flat on his mattress, with a slight raise of an eyebrow and an intense, challenging look in his eyes.

“Take your clothes off.” Liam’s voice was firm, commanding, knowing that Zayn liked that. He would have to have to work extra hard to convey authority with his words, as he couldn’t touch.

Zayn’s grin was mischievous and satisfied as he knelt up on the bed and slowly, oh so fucking slowly, undid the button on his jeans, and eased down the zip, revealing more of his form fitting boxers. He tried to ease off his tight jeans without disappearing from the shot and failed miserably, wriggling out of view. “Hang on a sec,” He said as he gave up, and Liam saw the bed dip and settle as he climbed off it.

“You don’t have a future as a stripper,” Liam told the empty screen.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m just not much of an exhibitionist.” Zayn giggled as he climbed back onto the bed, finally naked, and gave Liam a playful, boyish smile, the skin by his nose crinkling as his eyes narrowed to intoxicatedly amused slits.

It made Liam feel warm and indulgent. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? If you don’t get something inside me soon I really am gonna have to go find someone else. It wouldn’t be hard, I could have anyone.”

“ _Zayn._ ” His tone held a clear warning, knowing how true those words were. 

Zayn ran his hands up his thighs, letting his fingers slide between them. Liam was so used to seeing the small, self-inflicted scars that littered the tops of Zayn's thighs, that he barely even noticed them anyone; they were old and healed, that was all that mattered, as they faded into the background, part of the patchwork of their lives. “So like, tell me what you want? And how much you’ll pay. I’ll do a lot of sick shit for enough tokens,” Zayn said as he settled back into his character, pulling Liam back into the scene.

“Fuck tokens, I’ll give you the world.”

“That’s what they all say. That they wanna rescue me; but they never do.” Zayn’s words cut a bit too close to the bone, and there was a moment of awkward silence. “So tell me what you want?” He asked again. 

That was the big question. What did he want? “I want… I want everything.”

“I’m all yours until your time’s up and your money runs out.” Zayn always was a master of avoidance.

Knowing it wasn’t the time for big declarations, Liam decided to make the most of what he was being offered: the freedom afforded by role-playing – to put on a mask and show his true self. “Okay, I want to watch you finger yourself open for me. Get yourself wet and ready for my dick.”

Zayn hummed his agreement as he grabbed the lube, flipped up the cap with a practiced thumb, and squeezed it onto the fingers of his other hand. They glistened as he rubbed the clear gel over them until they were coated. He tossed the bottle aside and scooted further back onto the bed, still facing the camera, then lay on his back, bent his knees, and spread his legs wantonly, letting his thighs fall open. “Got a good view?”

“ _Yeah_.” Liam’s voice was deep and rough as he answered. The view was fucking perfect. Exactly what he would see if he were about to crawl between Zayn’s thighs to fuck him. Zayn moved his hand down between his thighs, his hips arching off the bed as he groaned. He pushed at his hole with wet fingers, rubbing over it, but not letting them slip inside. Looking up along his body, Liam watched as Zayn sucked on the index finger and thumb of his other hand, before pinching roughly at one of his nipples with a moan, which was clearly exaggerated for Liam’s benefit.

“Stop being such a fucking tease, baby, get your fingers inside yourself. I wanna see your hole opened up, see it well used and gaping. Prove how fucking desperate you are for it.”

“Who says romance is dead?”

“I'm paying you sweetheart, I don’t need to romance you.”

Liam took a sip of his drink, palming himself firmly through his trousers, his cock leaking in anticipation. A wet patch seeped through the fabric, turning the faded grey almost black.

He always worried he’d go too far and Zayn would stop. He clearly hadn’t yet though, as Zayn was starting to slide a finger inside himself in response, his balls bulging obscenely over his wrist as he writhed on the bed for the benefit of his captivated audience. Zayn’s other hand moved to his cock, which was darkening as blood flooded into it and it hardened, his fingers sliding around it –

“I didn’t say you could touch your dick,” Liam scolded him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Zayn muttered as he pulled his hand away. He slid his fingers out of himself too and moved his hand so that it was beneath him, pushing his fingers back inside. This looked like an easier angle, and he fucked himself down onto them.

“ _More_.” Liam’s voice was loud and echoey, the only other sounds in the room were Zayn’s moans through the inadequate speakers of Liam’s laptop.

He couldn’t get a good enough view of Zayn’s hand in the flat, two-dimensional image, “How many fingers you got inside you now?”

“Three,” Zayn gasped out as he continued to thrust down onto them, the fingers of his other hand grasping at the sheet. His feet were flat on the bed, taking his weight, as he raised and lowered his hips, his rhythm irregular and stuttering.

“That’s enough.” Liam leant over and put his glass onto the bedside cabinet before he ended up spilling it, then placed the laptop onto the bed next to himself, angled the screen to give himself a better view, and leaned back. He was met by the sight of Zayn sitting up, looking far more dishevelled than he had initially, as he sucked on the fingers he’d had inside himself.

Liam pushed his hand into his sweatpants as he said, “Now I wanna see your hole stretched around one of those toys.”

“Your wish is my command, Master.” Zayn’s smile was a little too knowing and mockingly playful as he said it, and Liam knew that Zayn was just fucking with him, but he didn’t care.

“I like it when you call me that. I should just buy you, keep you chained to my bed waiting for me.” Liam was half-serious.

“I’d like to see you try,” Zayn smirked, his hand hovering over the toys as he studied them. He bypassed the steel butt plug with a large, ostentatious, fake gemstone encrusted into the flared end – which he had said was ridiculous when Liam had given it to him. His fingers briefly skimmed over the deceptively delicate looking ornate glass dildos, without grasping any of them. Instead he picked out a dildo that he’d said reminded him of Liam’s dick when he bought it, realistically shaped and just the right size.

“Turn around,” He told Zayn as he watched him smooth lube over the rubber shaft.

“So you don’t need to see my face, just my arse?”

“Exactly,” He said with an easy smile.

“You’re so fucking sleazy.”

“Complaining, love?”

“No,” He admitted, as he shuffled around on his knees until his back was to the camera.

Zayn’s hair was the longest it had ever been, and fully dry now it curled around the nape of his neck, above the inked bird proudly fanning out its tail feathers. Liam’s eyes trailed down the well of Zayn’s spine – his ribs too prominent at each side – down to the achingly slender curve of his waist, then down down down to where he was starting to slowly work the unyielding object into himself.

Liam was so engrossed in watching the events unfold, he had barely been paying attention to what he was doing himself, hand wrapped around his dick but barely moving. But fuck he needed some relief. He awkwardly raised his hips from the bed and pushed his trousers down to his thighs, freeing his cock. He then squeezed lube into his palm and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking in time to the short thrusts of Zayn working the dildo inside himself.

Beneath the rhythmic sound of Zayn’s moans, he could hear the wet slide of the toy, going deeper each time as Zayn sat back, grinding himself down onto it, then pulling himself up. Zayn’s head was thrown back, his back arching forward. Liam pictured how, facing away from the camera, the prominent tendons and veins that ran and coursed down the length of Zayn’s neck must be visibly straining with the effort. How the collar must be biting into the tender skin of his bared throat, and the thin, angry red lines it would leave behind when he took it off. The marks that would hopefully serve as a reminder to Zayn of what he’d done, and who he belonged to.

“I can’t fucking see you, keep talking to me, _Daddy._ ” The exertion of his position made Zayn's voice harsh and demanding, the muscles in his shoulders tense as he held the base of the dildo behind himself.

“You’re such a bossy little thing, princess. Remember who’s in charge here.” Liam’s hand moved faster as he watched Zayn’s body yielding easily now. “Be a good little girl for your Daddy.” Liam was pleased by Zayn's gasp – he always did love having his gender played around with. “Look how desperate you are to be filled. But I wanna see your hole. Take that fake cock out, and lean forward, arse in the air.”

“I’m not a fucking porn star, y'know,” Zayn gasped out, as he reluctantly slid the toy out and dropped it next to himself, then leant forward and pushed one of his shoulders to the mattress.

“Sure you are darling, just for me.” He watched, as thousands of miles away, Zayn reached his hands behind himself and placed them on his cheeks – not that he had much flesh to grab there either – and spread them open, exposing his hole that still gaped a little, before it contracted and puckered together, pulsing as it waited to be filled up again. His balls hung exposed between his thighs, a hint of his ignored dick visible behind them, flushed and hard.

“ _Fuck,”_ Liam felt overwhelmed, his hand speeding up, his dick blushed and straining towards his abdomen, wanting to be inside what he could only see on the screen.

Zayn let go and leaned forwards on his elbows, turning his head to the side to speak, showing his profile, though he wouldn’t be able to see Liam, as he said, “Stop touching yourself.”

“What?” Liam asked, confused.

“Stop touching yourself, or I’ll stop. If you’re gonna watch me get off, I get to watch you too. Just keep talking to me – you’re usually good at not shutting the fuck up.”

“Fuck, yeah, okay, just _don’t stop_.” Liam curled his wet hand into a fist as he turned onto his side, quickly rearranged his pillows, and gave Zayn his full attention.

“Yes, Daddy,” Zayn sounded pleased as he kneeled back up still facing away.

“Not that one,” Liam said as Zayn grabbed the dildo he’d been using, though it glistened enticingly.

“Then which one?” Zayn asked him, sounding anxious to get on with it.

“The black one.”

“The biggest you mean? You’re so fucking predictable. Still trying to get me to work my way up to take your fist?”

“You know me too well,” Liam conceded.

“I’ll probably let you do it one day,” Zayn told him absently as he pushed the assortment of toys out of the way and picked out the large, black, silicone dildo. Everything about it was an exaggeration of a penis, from the flared head to the sculptured veins coursing over it. He retrieved the lube and slicked it, though the sight was largely hidden from view. Liam watched without really paying attention, still preoccupied with the thought of Zayn finally agreeing to be fisted, until Zayn finished and twisted around to look at the screen beside the camera, ineffectually snapping the wet fingers of his free hand as he said, “Earth to Liam.”

“Hmmm?” He asked, pulling himself back to the present.

“I asked how you want me? If you can stop thinking about getting your whole fucking hand inside me. Like I said, you’re so fucking predictable.” 

“Just like this baby. And bend over; I always like you on all fours, so I can mount and breed you like the little bitch you are.”

“ _Fuck_ you’ve got a filthy mouth.” Zayn was breathing heavily, his body tense as he did what he was told, leaning forward until he was resting his weight on one hand. His back was horizontal and arching downward as he reached behind himself, directly in front of the impassive camera. He tried to work the dildo inside, the urgency of his need obvious; it looked too big, his body compact and vulnerable against the intrusion. “ _Shit_ ,” he murmured, as his body refused to yield and let it inside.

Zayn knelt up again, dropped the dildo onto the bed, and grabbed the lube, before he reached back and pushed his slick fingers inside himself, adding another one this time, trying to stretch himself open further. Then, from the movements of his arms, Liam could tell he was smearing more lube onto the dildo in front of himself; he got back into position, his hole looking wet and well used, before he tried again to work it inside.

All Liam could do was watch spellbound. Caught somewhere between telling Zayn to be careful he didn’t injure himself, and telling him to just fucking shove it in, he stayed silent.

Zayn gasped as it grudgingly slid inside this time, bit by bit, as his body adjusted and stretched around it, and he started to set a rhythm.

“I can’t hear you.” Zayn sounded desperate.

“Sorry love, you’re so fucking amazing, I couldn’t find the words. But yeah, fuck yourself harder for me.”

Zayn’s gasps sounding almost pained as he thrust harshly back onto the dildo. The rest of the time Zayn wouldn’t let anyone get away with speaking to him like this, but in these moments he begged for it.

“That’s it baby, get the angle right. I know how much you must get off on having your prostate stroked, what a fucking cockslut you are. Has anyone ever told you that you really are as pretty as a girl? And your hole looked as wet as any cunt; I want to get my mouth on it, eat you out, make you ride my face while I fuck you with my tongue.” He felt light headed from all his blood heading south, his dick throbbed, and his neglected balls ached. His hands were clenched into fists, nails digging painful crescents into his palms. He hadn’t known he was capable of this much self-control. Apparently he’d do anything for Zayn.

“Don’t stop,” Zayn murmured, as he dropped forward, his shoulder and cheek pressed to the mattress out of view, his movements quick and desperate.

“I wanna get my dick into you, fill you with my spunk then plug you up so I’m always inside you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn’s voice was sharp as his hand, slick and grasping, slipped off the dildo, the angle awkward and visibly straining him. He snatched at it as his body tried to push it out.

Liam found himself reaching forward to help. A primitive part of his brain couldn’t understand the distance and technology, instinctively wanting to _touch_. He pulled his hand back, feeling like a fool.

Zayn got hold of it again, and was more forceful, not letting it escape his grasp as he jabbed it into himself, fast and hard. He cried out, the new angle of his thrusts perfect, his hips pushing back greedily to meet each movement of his hand.

“I need to touch myself, Daddy.” Zayn’s voice was barely coherent, and his words pressed into the mattress.

“Impatient child. Maybe if you beg me prettily enough?” Liam gave up and wrapped his hand back around his dick, moving it slowly, enough to take the edge off but not be a distraction. He made sure he was quiet so Zayn wouldn’t know, again feeling like a schoolboy.

“ _Liam_ – _fuck_ ,” Zayn sounded annoyed in his urgency, dragging out each syllable of Liam's name in the way only he did, but he didn’t move his hand from where it clasped the sheet tightly, long creased lines forming in it, fanning away from his fist.

“What did you call me?”

“Shit, _Daddy_ , please Daddy.” Zayn sounded frantic, but he did what he was told. Liam felt more powerful than he ever had in his life.

“Okay baby, I want you to come for me now. Show me what a good boy you are.”

Zayn let out a broken sob as he swapped hands so that his left hand grasped the end of the dildo instead; his body surged then settled as he turned his head to rest his right cheek against the mattress, angled so that he could look back at the screen to the side of the camera behind himself. It must have appeared almost upside down to him as he rocked forward with each thrust. Mouth open as he moaned, and glassy eyed, he looked drugged, though far more than he had earlier, and not because of whatever he'd been smoking. Between his spread thighs, Liam saw him wrap his right hand around his cock, tugging at it, his rhythm broken and desperate. Zayn pushed the dildo as deep into himself as it would go, his body contracting around it. His frenzied activity slowed as he sobbed out his release, babbling a jumble of fractured endearments and curses. The white fluid surged down onto the sheet in fast, powerful spurts, his hand milking out every last drop. It was almost too much to watch.

Liam was breathless himself as he talked him through it, “You’re so good for me, baby, so perfect; I love you so _fucking_ much.”

As the quick thrusts of his hips slowed, Zayn slid down on to the mattress with a sigh. He looked boneless, a marionette whose strings had been unceremoniously cut. The dildo slid out, and he dropped it uncaringly onto the ruined sheets. Laying across the bed as he was, it wasn’t quite big enough, and his feet dangled off the edge facing the camera.

Liam tried to wait, he did, but his dick almost _hurt_. He rolled onto his back, still watching the screen, and held tighter as he started to slide his hand faster over his rigid flesh, rubbing his fingers under the head. He bent his knees, toes curling against the sheets, and teeth digging into his plump lower lip. _“Shit, Z_ ayn? Don’t fucking fall asleep on me…”

He could hear the lazy, satisfied smile in Zayn’s wrecked voice, his answer muffled against the mattress, “Did you want something else?”

“Very fucking funny. Are you gonna get me off or not?”

“How much you gonna tip me?”

Liam had almost forgotten their roles. “Whatever you want, _anything_.”

“A million pounds?”

“Okay, sure. Ten million. A hundred million, anything, just put that pretty mouth of yours to good use.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Zayn looked content and a little smug as he rolled over and sat up, scooting forward to the edge of the bed to escape the wet spot that he must have been laying in. He slipped the tips of a couple of his glistening fingers into his mouth as he looked directly into the camera, working them over with his tongue, before glancing across to see Liam’s reaction.

Liam had pulled his hand off himself when Zayn turned around, his fingers rubbing against each other anxiously and curling back into a frustrated fist. He groaned as he grabbed the lube from next to himself on the bed, and poured more onto his hand, before finally, finally wrapping it around himself again.

Zayn looked back into the camera, licked his own semen from lips as he gave a look of mock disapproval, echoing Liam’s own words, “I didn’t say you could touch your dick.”

“Don’t get above yourself, sweetheart. I get to call the shots here, remember.”

Zayn shrugged in grudging assent as he made a show of retrieving the dildo from behind himself on the bed. He licked the length of it, then stretched his lips around the head, and took what he could into his mouth. Liam could almost believe Zayn was looking into his eyes. 

Watching spellbound, Liam groaned, “You are such a filthy little slag, baby.” He gave a slow, easy smile in appreciation, thinking _mine_. “Fuck I wish that was my cock in your mouth; I’d make you gag on it.” He was propped up enough on the pillows that he could watch the screen, his back arching off the bed as he stroked himself.

Zayn pulled his legs up onto the bed. He got onto his hands and knees and crawled further along the edge, his skin an intricately inscribed vellum canvass in the harsh lights he’d set up for his performance, the dip of his back a perfectly designed concave curve that rivalled any architectural design. Reaching up, he grabbed a pillow and pulled it under his head as he dropped down onto the bed and curled up on his side, his overwhelmed body still trembling a little, his fingers still ghosting over his softening dick as he looked at the screen. His whole body was in shot, though he no longer looked into the camera. He seemed wantonly decadent, wearing nothing but a collar and jewellery, lethargic as he basked in the endorphins still coursing through him. “Take your top off, I wanna see your chest.” His voice was lazy and content.

Liam murmured, " _Fuck,_ " but he stopped and quickly did it. He ran his hand over the coarse hair covering his chest and running down the centre of his body, leaving it sticky with lube and pre-come, before he grasped himself again. 

“Hmmm,” Zayn hummed his appreciation. “Now move your laptop further down the bed – I can’t see your dick.”

“Then you won’t be able to see my face.”

“I don’t need to see your face, just your dick.”

Rather than waste time complaining, Liam pushed his computer until the small picture that showed his own image gave the view that Zayn wanted. There were sticky smudges left at the edge of the screen from his fingers, but he’d worry about that later.

He lay back, keeping his legs straight so as not to block the shot, and wrapped his hand around himself again, letting his other hand drift down to fondle his balls.

“That’s better,” Zayn sounded pleased, “now pull your foreskin back – I wanna see the head.”

He did as he was asked; exposed the glans of his cock as Zayn watched. More clear liquid leaked out and oozed down over his fingers.

“Look at you, so fucking wet for me, dripping with it. You wanna be inside me so bad, don’t you?” Zayn carried on talking.

Liam couldn’t see Zayn’s face as clearly from this angle, but he could still make out his look of hunger as he licked his lips, his hooded eyes trained on the screen. “ _Yeah_ ,” he gasped out, finally uninterrupted as he moved his hand, fast and urgent.

“I want it too,” Zayn continued, voice low and quiet, accent even thicker than usual when he was this aroused, the speakers not doing the timbre of it justice. “Miss you so fucking much when you’re gone.” He sounded small and confessional, and Liam half wished he could stop and pay more attention, but he couldn’t even if he tried. “Never thought I’d be like this with anyone. But I just want you to catch me and never let me go; keep your big dick inside me all the time.”

“I’m so close,” Liam gasped out. “Keep talking; tell me you’re gonna take my fist.”

Zayn chuckled, soft and tired as he said, “I knew you’d remember I said that." His voice grew more serious as he continued, "Yeah I want your fist in me; feel you stroking me on the inside, filling me up. In return you can finally give me your piss, I keep fucking asking for it; drench me in it, make me drink it.”

Liam groaned sharply with each stroke; he knew he was making too much noise, and vaguely hoped his bodyguard in the next room wouldn’t hear and come to investigate.

“Gonna give me your cum, Daddy? I fucking earned it – I was a good little whore for you.” Zayn’s words were relentless.

And that did it. Liam came embarrassingly quickly after holding back for so long, thrusting up into his fist, his head rising up off the pillows, back bowed as his whole body contracted. He found himself repeating, “ _Oh god_ ,” over and over, as his dick pulsed and twitched in his hand, his grip tight. He strained to fill someone on the other side of the ocean, instead coating his fingers and splattering messily onto his abdomen.

“ _Shit_ ,” Liam collapsed back onto the bed, spent and exhausted, his hand still moving languidly over his dick as he came down. 

He looked over at the screen to find Zayn laying still as he watched and murmured, “I wanna touch you so _fucking_ much.”

Liam fought to catch his breath. “I know, me too,” he managed to gasp out.

“You know, if anyone hacks into our computers, everything will come out. Literally and figuratively.”

Liam hummed in agreement. He wasn’t quite sure what the last word meant, but he could hazard a guess. It would perhaps be a relief to stop hiding. Well, eventually, after the initial trauma and recriminations. But he didn’t say it. Even if he were in a fit state to speak, there were so many things they had still left unspoken. They lived between the lines, balanced precariously in the blank spaces, always threatening to spill over into the text, their lives smearing across the page in indelible ink for the world to see; exposed in lurid headlines that they were paying a very high price to avoid. Even between themselves there were things that they daren’t say, things that once said they wouldn’t ever be able to take back. He tried not to even think about it. The choices that they would have to make eventually, the vague future that kept moving further away out of sight, getting blurrier rather than solidifying.

“If the singing doesn’t work out I could always do this for a living,” Zayn carried on – he seemed to be trying to lighten the mood, realizing he’d brought it down.

“Only if you don’t service anyone but me.”

Zayn shrugged, “You can afford it. That reminds me, your time’s up, and I have other clients waiting. Look for me next time you’re bored and lonely.” He stood up and Liam saw a flash of his sticky, naked abdomen before the connection cut off. Liam smiled to himself, then sighed from deep in his chest as he turned off his laptop. He was a lucky man.

Liam wiped his hands and torso clean with the tissues, before balling them up and throwing them in the vague direction of the bin, too exhausted to move. Some even landed inside it. His trousers were still bunched around his thighs; he raised his hips and dragged them back up, gingerly tucking away his tender, over sensitized dick. His drink had long since been forgotten, and he quickly finished it, abandoning his glass for someone else to clean and put away.

He got to his feet a bit shakily, feeling like he’d spent all day working out, and stretched with a grunt, rolling his back, his chest thrusting forward, arms half raised and hands clenched into fists.

He headed into the bathroom and groaned with relief as he emptied his bladder, then washed his hands and splashed his face with the cool water, drying himself off with a large, fluffy white towel. Looking at himself in the mirror over the sink, his hands braced on either side on the counter, he looked even more tired, but content, and he was more satisfied with what he saw than he had been earlier.

But he knew he needed to change. He was a moth to a flame. Always navigating towards Zayn, wearing himself out, wearing them both out. He was going to have to get a fucking grip on himself, or keep Zayn closer. Lock him down.

When he emerged into the bedroom, his phone was playing Zayn’s ringtone again, always a welcome sound. The music stopped before he got to it, so he dropped it into his pocket. He pulled on a pair of socks, and dressed hurriedly in his t-shirt, even more crumpled after being left in a heap on the bed, and a hoodie. Picking up a half empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he wrestled with the door handle again, then headed outside.

He lit a cigarette, took out his phone, and called Zayn.

“You kept me waiting again,” Zayn said as he answered.

“I’m sorry babe, I needed a smoke so I’m on the balcony.” He pursed his lips around the filter and relaxed into the familiar feeling of the nicotine sliding into his system along with the smoke, soothing him.

The waning moon was overhead, bright and almost full still in the clear sky. It struck him how so many of the earth’s rhythms and inhabitants were affected by something so far away. The tides surging at its mercy, insects forever seeking out a light they could never reach. He could relate.

“Your phone still play “Use me” when I call you?” Zayn’s voice conveyed his slight irritation.

Liam grinned out at the city. “Yeah. It suits you; it’s what you usually want me to do to you when you call.”

Zayn huffed out an audibly put-upon breath, and Liam could picture him shaking his head, but he knew it wasn’t serious. “You can be such a bloody twat. And you realise you owe me a hundred million pounds, right? In return for my pretty mouth,” Zayn asked, apparently giving up on putting Liam in line.

Liam smiled. “What’s mine is yours, anyway.” A silence descended, and Liam realised he’d crossed an invisible line again and gotten too close to the kind of vows they knew they didn’t dare make yet, or if they ever would.

“How’s L.A.?” Zayn asked, ungracefully changing the subject.

Liam shrugged, even though Zayn couldn’t see him. “It’s fine.” It struck him how anywhere can become mundane, even a place he’d been dreaming about all his life.

Zayn noticeably hesitated, before he asked, “You okay? You seemed, like, really tense before.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Well yeah, you would be after what I just did for you. But like, in general?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Things are getting on top of me a bit, and I don’t like being away from you. Or hiding… us…”

“I know.” And if anyone did, it was Zayn. “But it’ll get easier, right?”

“Yeah.” He tried to sound reassuring, but didn’t trust himself to say more. He wasn’t really sure whether it would.

Zayn didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, the distance in his voice due to more than the miles separating them, “Just take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will.” Apparently he did still tell people what they wanted to hear.

“Good.” Zayn sounded resigned more than convinced. He yawned around his words, “I’m tired – you wore me out. I’m gonna nap for a bit. You try get some sleep too, yeah?”

“Okay, darling. And turn your fucking phone on soon as you get up tomorrow.”

Zayn’s laugh was brief and sleepy. “You gonna stalk me again if I don’t?

“I didn’t –” he gave a frustrated sigh, “Okay, yeah, probably.” He carried on speaking as Zayn laughed again, but it sounded affectionate. “I just like to know that you’re okay. And that you’re eating. And where you are. And what you’re doing. And who you’re doing it with.” He spoke his last words pointedly, then his voice softened as he continued, “And that you always think about me when you’re wanking. Is that too much to ask?”

“Nah, babe, I can give you all that. But you shouldn’t leave me on my own so much.” His words were starting to slur, and Liam could picture his eyelids drooping shut and the phone threatening to slip from his fingers.

“I know.” His brow furrowed, and he drew smoke into his lungs as he gazed far into the distance, not really seeing anything, his attention captured far away. “Now hang up before you fall asleep, and I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. You’re a lot of work, you know that? But I love you.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He turned his head a little as he said it, tilting it into the phone, futilely trying to get closer to Zayn, his eyes not focused on anything.

Zayn made a pleased sounding hum then the line went dead, and Liam slipped his now fully redeemed phone back into his pocket. He leant forward, resting both his elbows on the iron railing.

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the cooling night air, fog against black velvet. The sky was a blanket littered with stars, and he let his mind slide into nothingness as he watched the shimmering lights above, mirrored in the city below. He felt calm. For now. Tomorrow it would all start again, and he told himself that he would show better judgement, more restraint, be less demanding of Zayn’s attention. He almost believed himself. But not quite.

**_The end _ **


End file.
